Harmony
by HalfASlug
Summary: Harry and Hermione. Because a boy and a girl really can just be friends. Missing moments series.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a Harry/Hermione friendship fic. If you're looking for a story where they fall in love and make babies please move along. Or stay and read, just don't be shocked when this doesn't end with the two of them riding off into the sunset, getting married and getting matching rings with HJP inscribed on them._

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter among various other possessions. _

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Harry walked out of the library and found himself to be very confused. With Ron still the hospital wing after his encounter with Norbert and the rest of the school ignoring him, his only other chance of human interaction was Hermione and she was nowhere to be found. Well, she wasn't in the two places Harry had already checked – the common room and the library – so now he was at a complete loss as to where else she might be.

Slowly, Harry began meandering along the corridors of the ancient castle aimlessly, trying to avoid the glares of his fellow students and failing miserably. He had become so used to being liked it was a shock to return to a similar atmosphere to that of his primary school. In fact, he half-expected Dudley to come around the corner, possibly with Malfoy in tow, and start bullying him.

Wincing at the thought of Malfoy and Dudley teaming up, Harry wondered if Malfoy's parents were anything like his aunt and uncle. Did all bullies have similar parents?

Harry stopped in his tracks, causing a fourth year Hufflepuff to walk into him. After they had exchanged apologies, Harry started dashing towards the owlery, feeling incredibly stupid for not realising sooner.

Every Friday, without fail, Hermione would write a letter half the size of one of their textbooks to her parents and send it to them first thing on a Saturday morning using one of the school owls. He had offered Hedwig to her, but she had refused because she would've attracted too much attention to her Muggle neighbours, so she stuck with some of the smaller school owls instead.

Eventually, Harry pushed open the huge door to the owlery and started searching for Hermione, hoping he wasn't too late. As he looked around, he saw most of the owls were asleep or not yet back from the previous night's hunting. Without warning, Hedwig swooped down from one of the higher perches and landed heavily on his left shoulder.

"How're you doing, girl?" he asked softly, stroking her head. "How was Romania, by the way? I've been meaning to ask."

Hedwig gave as soft hoot before launching herself towards the far window and settling on an empty perch above it. Harry smiled at his beloved pet and then noticed that huddled up on the sill of the window Hedwig was sat above was a mass of brown hair and black Hogwarts robes. Wondering why Hermione was sat there doing nothing, Harry gave a nod of thank you to Hedwig and started walking over to her.

It wasn't until he was a couple of feet away that he realised that she was crying.

Having never really had a friend before Hogwarts, Harry was unsure of what to do. Should he leave her alone or should he let her know that he was there? Deciding that it would be quite horrible of him to not at least ask what was wrong, Harry called out to her.

Hermione's head snapped up and her red-rimmed eyes were wide with fear. When she noticed that it was him, Hermione looked relieved although in still in shock.

"Harry!" she gasped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "S-sorry, I didn't see you. I was just sending a letter."

Harry swallowed and tried to think of something funny to say to try and cheer her up and found himself wishing Ron wasn't in the hospital wing for about the sixth time that day.

"Are, um, are you okay, Hermione?" he asked tentatively, half-hoping she would say she was fine and leave it at that.

Instead, to Harry's dismay, her bottom lip started to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky breath.

"I'm fine," she said eventually, with a sad smile on her lips. "I'm just being silly."

Harry awkwardly looked down at his trainers and kicked at a small, black feather that was on the floor. "Well, that's good," he mumbled.

Before Hermione, Harry had never met a girl he could stand to be near or one that could stand to be near him. While the boys would chase and hit him at school, the girls would sing ridiculous songs about him or dare each other to kiss him on the cheek. Some days Harry found himself hoping for the beatings.

Hermione was different though. She was a strange mixture of an older sister and another one of the boys. She'd help him with his homework and, when you could drag her away from her own, she could actually be very funny, despite what most people thought.

Now, however, Hermione was displaying typical girl behaviour and Harry had never really had to deal with talking about feelings before. To try and avoid a conversation about why she was upset, Harry tried to talk about something neutral.

"So who were you writing to?" he asked in a voice that was obviously trying to sound casual. He glanced up at her and was disturbed to see fresh tears form in her eyes.

"My parents," she replied in a cracked voice. She was clearly trying to hold it together, for which Harry was very grateful. "I was just telling them about Norbert and our detentions. Hopefully they won't be too angry. I explained how we were just trying to help Hagrid, but I don't know if they will understand."

Harry nodded and Hermione sniffed, looking sadly at her shoes sadly. "I just miss them so much," she whispered.

As soon as the words left her mouth, they both froze. A chill seemed to pass through Harry's body as Hermione's statement hit him. The colour drained from her face as Hermione looked up at Harry, her mouth wide in horror.

"Oh, Harry, I am so sorry," she blurted out. "I – I didn't think."

"It's all right," Harry shrugged. He was surprised to find he wasn't hurt or upset. His parents were always a touchy subject with him since he had seen them in the mirror at Christmas, but he hadn't really been saddened by the experience. If anything it had been nice to finally have proof that they had existed at all.

"No, I shouldn't have been so insensitive," Hermione said with a shake of her head.

"Hermione," sighed Harry, "it's okay to miss your parents. I'm not going to be angry with you because of it."

For a moment, Hermione seemed to search his face for signs of distress. When she didn't find any, she bit her lip and nodded her head.

"Look," Harry said as he sat down beside her, "I didn't know them so I can't miss them. You saw your parents every day for nearly twelve years and now you go months without seeing them. It's completely different."

Again, Hermione watched him, but this time thoughtfully. "I suppose it is," she agreed quietly. "I still feel terrible."

"Well, don't," replied Harry firmly. "You were upset and you weren't thinking straight so I forgive you even though I don't think there is anything to forgive."

Hermione chuckled and turned to face out of the window. Harry followed her gaze and watched the tall trees of the forest sway slightly in the harsh wind.

"You know if you're ever upset or want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, Harry."

Shocked by her statement, Harry glanced at Hermione before looking back at the forest. No one had ever offered him that kind of support before. When he was younger he would've loved someone to talk to, but he was so used to dealing with his troubles by himself he doubted he could ever open up to someone else.

The offer, though redundant, still meant a lot to him. It had been eight months, but Harry was still unused to the idea of having friends who cared about him. He doubted he ever would be.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said softly, unable to look at her.

Together they sat on the cold stone, silently watching the mountains, both lost in their own thoughts until an hour later when Ron burst in, questioning what they were both doing in the drafty owlery and marvelling at how his finger was now back its original colour.

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_Thanks for reading :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, people! Give yourselves a round of applause! _

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter. Well, that's what Wikipedia says so who the hell knows who it really is._

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"I really don't understand how drawing a picture of Lockhart with a yeti helps me defend myself against the Dark Arts."

"It's about interpreting the text and using different methods to represent what you have learnt."

Hermione heard Harry's sigh but chose to ignore it. While he had a marginally better work ethic than Ron, he still failed to see how important their homework was. Hermione had to admit last week's homework of writing haikus about Professor Lockhart's skin care routine while he 'Travelled with Trolls' had baffled her, but it didn't matter what she thought; Professor Lockhart obviously knew what he was doing. Plus it meant she had an excuse to reread the section about how he had helped an infant troll that had got itself stuck under a bridge and was being attacked by vicious mountain goats. He was so heroic, not to mention handsome.

"I'm not sure which one's the yeti and which is Lockhart," mused Harry. Hermione glanced up from her book to see Harry holding parchment up and inspecting it closely. "Kind of embarrassing since I was the one who drew it."

Hermione chuckled and looked around the library. It was busier than it usually was on a Tuesday evening, but the weather outside was horrible. Even from the depths of Hogwarts' huge library, she could faintly hear the rain hitting the windows. It was one of her favourite things about the library; being able to find a quiet corner amongst the gigantic shelves and get lost in a book or essay while listening to the rain.

"I just don't see how this is real work," Harry grumbled from opposite her. "I mean, I hate essays as much as the next person, but at least you sort of learn stuff! Isn't that the point?"

As calmly as she could, Hermione closed her book, being sure to place a bookmark on her page, and looked up at Harry.

"It's just a different way of showing what you have learnt, Harry," she explained again. "The actual learning is done from the books."

"But his books are terrible," replied Harry automatically.

Hermione bristled at his comment. Harry seemed to notice his mistake and started talking again before she could scold him.

"It's like some of those books they made us read in primary school! _How was the author feeling when they wrote this part?_" Harry said in a mocking high voice. "How the hell are you meant to know that from a chapter about a tea party with a faun?"

Harry went back to his work, still muttering under his breath, but something about what he had just said caught Hermione's attention.

"Tea party with a faun?"

Harry looked up again from his messy drawing and frowned. "Yeah, we were reading _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_ in year five and they set this stupid test with all-"

"I love the Chronicles of Narnia!" squealed Hermione. "For my sixth birthday my mum brought me the boxset of all of them and my dad brought me _The Hobbit. _They saw it as some competition to get me to like their own favourite childhood book. Anyway, I never really liked _The Hobbit, _but I read all of the Narnia books in week. _The Magician's Nephew _is probably my favourite. What about you?"

Hermione smiled at Harry brightly, who just stared at her open mouthed in return.

"I only read it once and that was in school because I had to," Harry said, sounding a bit stunned. "I didn't read the other four."

"Six," Hermione corrected automatically. "There are seven books in the series."

"_Seven?_" exclaimed Harry. "Who's got time to read _seven _books?"

Hermione picked up her book again and opened it at a random page. "Some of us make time to read," she sniffed.

Hermione knew the world would be a boring place if everyone was the same, but she sometimes wished that others liked reading as much as she did instead of seeing it as a chore. After a year of being friends with Harry and Ron, she was used to them making comments about her love of books but she couldn't pretend that they never hurt her.

"I didn't mean it like that, Hermione," said Harry awkwardly.

"Yes, you did," she fired back.

Hermione heard Harry sigh and found herself fighting tears and tried to force herself to keep it together. It was no secret that Hermione loved to read. To her, learning wasn't an obligation but a joy. The world was a vast and complex place and she never understood why others wanted to remain ignorant to its wonders. How was she the odd one out for wanting to absorb as much as she could?

The two friends sat awkwardly for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again.

"I didn't mean to snap at you, Harry," she said quietly. "It's just at my old school I – I didn't really have that many friends so I spent a lot of time reading."

This was a half-truth and Hermione knew that Harry must at least suspect that she hadn't had _any_ friends before Hogwarts. She had never really spoken about her life before she found out she was a witch with Harry or Ron in the hope that they wouldn't notice that she wasn't exactly the coolest girl at school and abandon her. While Hermione would never change to make friends, after she had started hanging around with the boys and had a taste of what friendship could be, she was terrified of losing it again.

As she looked up at Harry, she didn't see any signs of him mocking her or even pity, he just looked at her with the same expression that always preceded him telling a joke at his own expense.

"You were better off than me then," he said with a humourless chuckle. "I think I was in minus-numbers when it came to friends. Even the teachers didn't like me because strange stuff always happened when I was in their lesson."

"I had a similar problem," Hermione said with a wry smile. "In the end I stopped forcing my company on people who found me annoying and I would read a book so I could run away to Narnia or wherever for a couple of hours. That way, the weird occurrences didn't happen. Not as often at any rate," she added as an afterthought.

"Whereas I ran away from people who I found annoying but insisted on forcing their company on me, causing strange things to happen. I never made it to Narnia though. The school roof on the other hand…"

They both laughed loudly and Madam Pince appeared quicker than Harry on his Nimbus and shushed them in a way that Hermione thought was almost violent so she started reading again.

"Hermione, I am sorry about what I said before," said Harry after the librarian was out of ear shot. "If it makes you feel better I actually quite liked _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_."

She had the feeling he may have been lying to her to make her feel better so Hermione glanced up at him over the top of her book at him. He did look apologetic.

"Really?" she asked sceptically.

"Yeah," nodded Harry. "I actually checked all the wardrobes in the house just in case I could escape from the Dursleys. I did find it a bit unrealistic though. Y'know, with the witch turning people into statues?"

Hermione thought of the people lying in the hospital wing and smiled. "Yes, magic is quite a ridiculous concept, isn't it?"

"Utterly preposterous," he agreed with a straight face as Madam Pince walked past again, this time while levitating a large stack of books in front of her.

"One of my earliest memories was telling my dad that there was no such thing as magic," Hermione suddenly remembered. Harry raised his eyebrows so she carried on the story. "It was nearly Christmas and he asked me what I thought Father Christmas would bring me on his flying sleigh and I told him not to be silly and that Father Christmas wasn't real because there was no such thing as magic."

Harry covered his mouth to hide his laughter.

"How old were you?" he asked when he was able to.

"Three."

"_Three?_"

"Yes," said Hermione defensively. "Why? How old were you when you found out Father Christmas wasn't real?"

She watched as Harry shuffled the parchment in front of him before replying. "My aunt and uncle never really told me that he _did _exist – no need when they never really brought me presents – but I remember Dudley finding out," Harry added, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "We were fighting Christmas Morning one year and I told him there was no such thing as Father Christmas and he cried."

Hermione frowned as Harry chuckled at the memory. While his cousin was undoubtedly a mean person, it did seem unfair for Harry to ruin Christmas for him like that.

"My aunt came in, found out what had happened, sent me to my cupboard and told me I couldn't have Christmas dinner," Harry finished, unfazed.

"No Christmas dinner!" gasped Hermione. "She can't do that!"

Harry shrugged. The nonchalant way Harry spoke of the cruelty he suffered at the hands of his relatives never failed to shock and disgust Hermione. When she had first found out what his childhood had been like, Hermione had written a letter to her parents telling them how grateful she was for their love and support and she had meant every word. She had no idea how Harry coped without the care she had experienced.

"It didn't matter in the end," Harry continued. "That was the year that Aunt Petunia burnt the turkey. None of us had a Christmas dinner in the end."

"Have you never considered that maybe you burnt the turkey with magic?" Hermione asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, froze and dropped his quill. Hermione watched as comprehension dawned on his skinny face and suddenly they were both laughing so hard that they didn't notice Madam Pince storming towards them.

"What do you think you are doing?" she hissed at them. Harry, who had his back to irate librarian, flinched, knocking his bottle of ink onto his homework. "This is a _library! _This isn't some kind of Saturday social! I'd like you to leave. Now."

Madam Pince glowered at them as they hastily gathered there belongings into their arms. She marched them to the exit and carried on watching them until they had turned the corner at the end of the corridor and were out of sight.

Hermione was mortified.

"I can't believe that we just got kicked out!" she moaned, trying to shove her book into her back, a difficult feat to accomplish considering how full it was already. "Do you think we should apologise? Will we be let back in, Harry? Harry?"

Hermione stopped fretting and turned to Harry to see him almost purple in the face from trying not to laugh. He took one look at Hermione and burst out laughing again.

"This isn't funny!" Hermione scolded. "If we can't use the library how do expect us to-"

"What the hell is a Saturday social?" gasped Harry between sniggers. "You should have seen your face!"

Against her better judgment, Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Well, at least I didn't jump so high I could've patted Hagrid on the head."

Harry snorted and Hermione had to stop while he leant against the wall, trying to calm himself down. She was surprised that she was now laughing almost as hard as he was. When had she become the kind of girl who was ejected from the library and laughed hysterically in corridors? Probably the same day that a troll had nearly killed her and two boys, who she couldn't stand, turned her life upside down, she reasoned.

As Harry took off his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, Hermione realised that maybe being upside down with friends beat being the right way up and lonely any day.

"Oh no!" Harry cried, holding his parchment up as they started back towards Gryffindor Tower. "My ink went all over Lockhart! Although I have to say it is an improvement… Don't you think, Hermione?" he asked innocently.

One look at his face told her that he was on the verge of another laughing fit.

"Shut up, Harry."

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Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, alerts and favourites. Here's Chapter 3._

_Disclaimer: According to her latest Facebook update, J.K Rowling still owns Harry Potter._

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As Hermione sat on the edge of her in bed in the hospital wing, she kept flicking her gaze between Ron, still unconscious in the bed adjacent to her and Harry, fast asleep on his front, arm dangling off the edge, in the bed in front of her. She couldn't quite believe they had all got through the night in one piece (Ron only just, she thought, remembering the state of his leg) and without being arrested. She didn't want to think about how many laws she and Harry had broken. It had all been for the greater good and she would do it all again in a heartbeat, but it didn't mean her conscience didn't itch at the thought.

Despite being incredibly tired after Professors Dumbledore and Snape and the Minister had left them alone last night, Hermione had woken up the moment a ray of sunlight had crept its way into the room. She had tried to get back to sleep but couldn't. Eventually Madam Pomfrey had noticed she was awake and had started giving her a check-up to make sure she would be all right to go back out into the main school.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was because she hadn't had much sleep or if she was always like this in the mornings, but for whatever reason, Madam Pomfrey was in a foul mood.

"Honestly, this is school!" she muttered as she started chiselling a chunk of chocolate off the same block from last night, "not that you'd know by the way some people treat it!" she added in an undertone.

Hermione couldn't help but think this was a pointed remark at her, Harry and Ron and was about to politely point out that they didn't want to be in the hospital wing so often, but she couldn't because a magical version of a thermometer was hovering just inside of her mouth. Between that and Madam Pomfrey's wand floating of its accord around her, checking for any damage, Hermione had to sit very still to avoid being hit with the wand or swallowing the thermometer.

When she a broken a sizable chunk off the block of chocolate, Madam Pomfrey casually plucked her wand from the air, gave it a wave, banishing the thermometer and handed the chocolate to Hermione. As she took it from her, Hermione decided against giving her the same lecture her father had drilled into her as a child about eating chocolate first thing, because the matron's tirade didn't seem to have quite finished.

"I may have to give you your own reserved bed!" she said, pointing he wand at Hermione as she started wrapping the rest of chocolate back up.

"This _is_ only my third visit, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione pointed out quietly. "One of those was because of the basilisk."

Madam Pomfrey gave her a stern look. "Hmm. What about when you were suddenly half a cat? 'Transfiguration homework gone wrong'… you'd think I was born yesterday…" she trailed off in a huff. Hermione felt herself start to flush guiltily so she bit off a small piece of chocolate, wincing slightly as the taste mixed in with her un-brushed teeth, leaving her mouth feeling rough.

"And don't get me started on his poisonous _dog _bite," Madam Pomfrey continued, with a nod to Ron, who continued sleeping, oblivious to the world around him. Hermione bit off a slightly larger piece of chocolate. Madam Pomfrey picked up the block and started walking back to her office. Hermione heard movement and turned to see Harry stirring in his sleep.

"And as for _him_…" spat out Madam Pomfrey as she passed Harry, who blearily opened his eyes and looked towards to the sound of her voice. "You, boy, will be the death of me!"

With one final huff, Madam Pomfrey stormed into her office.

"Wadiedo?" mumbled Harry, rolling over onto his back, blinking.

"Live too dangerous a lifestyle for her liking," Hermione replied after she had swallowed the chocolate in her mouth.

Harry squinted at her before slowly dragging himself up to sit against his pillows. "I'm hardly a fan of it myself…"

Hermione watched as Harry fumbled for his glasses before eventually finding them and ramming them haphazardly onto his face. They hung slightly lopsided but it didn't seem to bother him as he ruffled his hair, making it resemble a crow's nest.

"How are you feeling?" she asked once he seemed capable of speech.

"Fine," yawned Harry. "Bit tired though."

"Well, you had a stressful day yesterday," reasoned Hermione. "Plus you lived an extra three hours compared to what you normally do."

Harry stared at her, confused, as though he had only just realised that she was fully awake.

"So did you. How are you so chirpy?" he asked accusingly.

"Well…" Hermione hesitated. All year she had been keeping the Time Turner a secret from him and Ron. Even though Harry now knew about it and had even used it, it still felt strange discussing it with him. "I'm used to having an extra five or six hours in a day, aren't I?"

Harry's eyes widened. He stifled another yawn before saying, "No wonder you've spent half of the year stressed out of your mind."

"I have not been-"

"Save it, Hermione," he cut in. "I was there. I saw you."

Hermione ducked her head. Had it really been that bad? She knew that she had been more tired, but that was to be expected. She had only ever missed one lesson and hadn't been caught despite a few near misses, which was a testament to how organised she had been. If she had been so stressed then surely she wouldn't have been able to daily execute such a complicated plan. There were some drawbacks, of course there were, like occasionally falling asleep in the library, forgetting to feed Crookshanks, having to put up a chart on her bedroom wall to work to what day it was every morning…

Hermione sighed. Living on an average of three hours of sleep every night was having some negative effects on her health. Her skin had a greyish tinge to it to match the black bags under her eyes, every morning she woke up feeling like she had been involved in a car crash and she had lost a bit of weight. When it had only been Ron pointing this out, it was easy to ignore and cover up with their usual teasing comments, but Harry was different. Harry was the sort of person who left you alone to sort out your own problems without comment. If he had not only noticed, but had decided to say something, then maybe it was a bigger problem than Hermione originally thought…

"So how are you feeling?" Harry's voice cut through her inner musings.

"Madam Pomfrey says I'm fine," she replied. "I've got quite a deep cut on my arm, but it doesn't hurt too much."

With a great stretch, Harry pulled the covers away from himself and made his way over to Hermione's bed. He sat down heavily next to her and inspected the cut on the crook of her right arm before letting out a low whistle.

"How'd that happen?" he asked, concerned.

"Whomping Willow," answered Hermione, remembering the giant branch swiping at her.

"Of course," breathed Harry, with a roll of his eyes. "Looks painful."

"It looks worse than it is," she assured him. "I just hope it doesn't scar."

"Even if it does, it could be worse," Harry laughed, pointing at his forehead, his famous scar just visible through his shock of black hair.

"I suppose," agreed Hermione with a smile. "It's silly for me to worry, really. I've never had a scar before. I've never really been injured in fact."

"Not even when you were little?" asked Harry, sounding surprised.

"No. Even then the biggest danger I faced was a paper cut."

They both laughed and looked back at her arm at the same time. Harry tilted his head slightly. "I don't think it'll scar. If it does though, it'll be pretty cool," he said in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring voice. Hermione, however, disagreed.

"Scars aren't _cool_!" she exclaimed.

"Hey!" cried Harry, gesturing to his forehead once more.

"You hate your scar!"

"No, just people's reactions to it," Harry corrected her with a shrug. "That would be hidden most of the time by your robes though."

"It still wouldn't be cool. I'll have a hideous gash on my arm for the rest of my life," mumbled Hermione. She had never understood the fascination most boys had with scars and other injuries. What was so impressive about hurting yourself? Why on earth would you want to be reminded of it for ever more?

It only happened occasionally, but this was one of the few times that Hermione realised that her two best friends were boys. The differences were few and far between, but as they got older they started to become more noticeable. The problem was that, while Hermione knew that they were boys and treated them as such, they both didn't seem to have noticed that she was a girl.

Part of her was glad as it meant they didn't exclude her, but another part of her was annoyed by this. For instance, a few weeks ago she had noticed a suspicious looking bulge in Harry's robes during a Transfiguration lesson, but had refrained from saying anything to embarrass him because she accepted that it was a natural occurrence that he didn't have any control over. Whereas later that day at dinner, Hermione had snapped at them for pretending to sword fight with their cutlery and Ron had jokingly asked her if she was "on the blob or something" – a disgusting phrase if there ever was one – to which Hermione stormed off, mortified, and refused to speak to either of them for the rest of the night.

Hopefully the penny would drop soon and then after the novelty of having a girl around would wear off and they could go back to being normal friends like they were before. How long did puberty last anyway?

Realising that she had been staring sadly at her cut for a while, Hermione looked up to see that Harry was watching her.

"Even if it does end up as a scar," he said sympathetically, "you'd still look good, Hermione."

Before Hermione had chance to thank him for the compliment, Harry had started to blush and opened his mouth in horror.

"Not good like _good, _just not bad, y'know," he said quickly. "Nice. But not in a _nice _way, but- I mean- you- erm…" He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, while Hermione watched him and tried not to giggle. "You'll look… fine. You'll look fine," he managed to finish eventually.

Harry looked at her as though she might explode at any minute. Instead she placed her left hand on his shoulder. "There, that wasn't so bad, and look," she said, holding up her right hand and wiggling her ring finger, "we're not married or anything."

With a sigh of relief, Harry started laughing and Hermione joined in. Of course they were eventually going to realise that she wasn't sleeping in the same dormitory as them because of a lack of beds. She had hoped the realisation would be painless, but she had to go and befriend two of the most awkward and unsure boys that had ever graced the Earth. Hopefully a couple of stuttered half-compliments would be the worst of it.

"How weird would that be?" laughed Harry eventually.

"What?"

"Being married to each other?" he reiterated with a grimace.

"And what exactly," asked Hermione in mock-hurt voice, "would be so horrid about marrying me?"

"Well, you're Hermione. You're the closest thing to a sister I have," shrugged Harry, looking a little awkward. "The Dursleys may be backwards in many respects, but they certainly taught me against _that._"

Hermione shuddered. Around her, the boys tended to keep talk of anything crass or rude to a minimum, but occasionally she caught a glimpse of it. She wondered what they talked about when she wasn't around but quickly resolved that she didn't want to know.

Once the thought of incest had thankfully left her, Hermione realised what Harry had said in the first half of his statement and found she was incredibly touched.

"Well, obviously I wouldn't know, but I guess you feel like a little brother to me," she replied, giving him a shy smile. Harry returned it with a grin that was more cheeky than anything.

"What? Always getting into trouble while you try to stop us?" he asked with a laugh.

"Us?" questioned Hermione.

"Well, yeah," shrugged Harry. "Ron as well."

Hermione was saved from replying by Madam Pomfrey's return. She shooed Harry back to his own bed as Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. After Madam Pomfrey had applied a thick cream to her arm, making the gash there disappear almost instantly, and started force feeding Harry chocolate, Hermione reflected on how she hadn't even considered Ron as a little brother, whereas the title seemed to fit Harry quite well.

She had been avoiding thinking about exactly how she felt about Ron for a couple of weeks, but the conversation just now had proved one thing – it was a lot different to the way she felt about Harry.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry about the later-than-usual update! Between work and being without a laptop for 3 days I was never going to finish this chapter sooner than I did._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this. When I rule the world (This is an inevitability. Embrace it) I will consider sparing you all._

_The more observant of you will notice this is the third Hermione POV chapter in a row. Don't panic! Harry and Hermione get an equal number of chapters - they're just not spread out evenly._

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter. Unfortunately he refuses to go into his Pokeball so she has to drag him around by a washing line while wearing rubber gloves._

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"Talk to him!"

"No."

Hermione and Ron's hissed argument was as familiar as it was repetitive. Since the champions had been chosen, Hermione had been begging Ron to grow up and fix things with Harry. She had honestly thought she was making some progress until this morning when Harry's later than usual arrival in the Great Hall had been met with Ron's furious scowl.

Since her walk around the lake with Harry earlier, in which he had relayed what he had seen in the Forbidden Forest, she had redoubled her efforts to get the two friends talking again. Seeing the two of them angry with each other was possibly the strangest thing Hermione had ever seen. Even the first time she had met them, when they had only just met themselves, it seemed like they had known each other for years.

With them separated and her trying desperately to keep them connected, Hermione could see her own failings clearer. Neither of the boys laughed as much as they had before, Ron had become suspicious and snappy, while Harry was dejected and lonely. Nothing she did seemed to help either of them and it was tearing her apart.

"He misses you," Hermione said desperately. "He needs you."

"Why?" Ron snorted, not even looking up from his copy of _Quidditch Weekly._ "He's got you."

"I'm not his best friend."

Ron froze at her words. "'Course you-"

"You know as well as I do that I'm not," interrupted Hermione.

They both shared an uncomfortable silence, Hermione willing the pressure burning in the back of eyes to subside. It didn't matter which way she looked at it; she was always going to be the latecomer to the group, the member that wasn't invited, but was forced into it by a strange twist of fate. Harry always partnered with Ron in lessons, leaving her with Neville. He always sat next to Ron at breakfast. When they had fallen out last year, Harry hadn't seemed too bothered, but without Ron he was miserable.

Hermione knew Harry cared for her, knew he trusted her more than pretty much anybody, but she also knew that she was a close second at best. It was just how it was.

"Drop it, Hermione," growled Ron, turning the page with more force than was needed.

"Do you know what the first task is?" she hissed at him, leaning closer to him so they wouldn't be overheard. At this, Ron's head snapped up.

"No," he replied, confused. "No one does."

"E-exactly," stammered Hermione, realising her mistake as a blush crept onto her face. "It could be anything! He could die and you don't seem to care!"

She knew she had hit a nerve the moment the words had left her mouth. Ron's façade of indifference cracked to reveal resentment and fury.

"I tried to talk to him last night!" he snapped. "He threw a badge at me!"

Hermione met his glare for a few seconds before she found she was too angry to discuss whatever petty squabble the boys had had last night.

"I give up!" he yelled at him, before storming out of the common room, nearly forgetting her bag in the process.

As Hermione marched to the library, hoping that Krum's fan club wasn't going to be there to interrupt her, she tried to hold back tears. She knew she wasn't enough to help Harry. Yes, she had stayed loyal. Yes, she would help him research dragons (a jolt of fear went through her at the thought), but Harry needed more than that. He needed someone to stop him worrying too much, someone to break the tension with a well-timed joke, someone whose brother had spent the past five years living on a dragon reserve… He needed Ron.

She was homework help, not a friend.

As Hermione turned into the courtyard she and her two best friends used to spend their breaks in before their schism, she saw a group of three Ravenclaws a couple of years older than her, chatting on a bench. As she approached, she heard a snippet of their conversation.

"-Diggory. You'd be stupid to put money anywhere else."

"He'd just have to flash a smile at the judges and they'll give him the points."

"What if the judges are all male?"

"Doesn't matter. That is a smile that could turn."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the inanity of their words. It seemed even Ravenclaw, the house of intelligence, wasn't above such mindless chatter. Just as Hermione wondered if she was the only girl in school who wasn't sleeping with a picture of Cedric Diggory under her pillow, the older girls' words once again pierced a hole in her thoughts.

"Rather him than that scrawny midget."

"Who exactly does he think he is anyway?"

"Did you see that _Prophet _article?"

"Oh, you mean the one where he was the _only_ champion and was _begging_ for support because his parents died like, decades ago?"

Before she was even aware that she had stopped walking, Hermione had already turned around and was stomping towards them. Her frustration with Ron, her fear over tomorrow's task and her worry over Harry suddenly combined to become a ball of fury.

"Don't you think you're being a bit insensitive?" Hermione shouted at the three girls.

As one, they turned around to look at the smaller girl with a red face, balled up fists and huge hair. It only took a heartbeat for their expressions to change from shock to humour. The one closest to Hermione, a girl with sleek, black hair, looked down at her, clearly trying not to laugh in her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you think that it's a bit insensitive to ridicule someone because their parents are dead?" Hermione reiterated as she glared the girl.

Somewhere deep inside of her, Hermione was reminded of her old school, where groups of girls often ganged up on her like this. This time was different though. For one, Hermione had initiated the confrontation. For another, Hermione wasn't scared. She didn't know if the anger had cancelled out the fear or if it was because she wasn't a helpless, ten year old bookworm anymore, but a fifteen year old, highly-skilled witch, but it didn't matter. Harry was her friend and they had no right to speak about him like that.

The black-haired girl's eyes narrowed but before she could reply, the blond, curly-haired girl to her right spoke up.

"Wait," she said, eyeing Hermione. "Aren't you that Hermiown Granger? The cheat's girlfriend?"

"I thought that was Beaver-Tooth girl?" the black haired girl asked as Hermione ran her tongue along her recently shortened teeth. If she had had any lingering guilt about her decision to alter them it evaporated then. "Although this girl does have the hair."

"It's _Hermione,_" Hermione retorted with dignity, "Harry isn't a cheat and I am certainly not his girlfriend!"

The third girl, who was so thin, Hermione was shocked a moderately strong gust of wind hadn't blown her away, laughed cruelly.

"Why don't you leave us alone and go and play with your cheater boyfriend?" she said in a voice that Hermione found very patronising. This whole conversation was just adding to her anger.

"I've already told you he isn't my boyfriend!" shouted Hermione. "He isn't a cheat! He didn't put his name in that Goblet! Why would he? Have you got nothing better to do than to idly gossip about the possibility of a fourteen year old boy getting severely injured?"

Shocked by her latest outburst, the girls' faces hardened. The blonde took a step forward, menacingly.

"Who do you think you are, Beaver-Tooth?" she said quietly. While the insult was childish and no longer relevant, Hermione still felt it sting. "Listening to our private conversations? Shouting at us? No one cares about you or your loser boyfriend, so go and bother someone else."

Hermione stared back at the taller girl, unwilling to be intimidated. This wasn't like her. What had she got to gain from starting an argument with three strangers?

Before Hermione could think of a way of leaving without looking foolish, the skinny girl muttered something that Hermione couldn't hear, to the blonde girl that made her laugh.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, her eyes snapping away from the girl who was still stood in front of her.

"I said," the girl smirked in reply, "ten sickles she cries like a baby when Potter dies."

It was one of those rare occasions where all of Hermione's famed intellect and her copious amounts of rationality failed her. Without thinking of the points that could be taken from Gryffindor or the fact it was three against one, Hermione quickly withdrew her wand and pointed it straight at the skinny girl's face.

While she was still thinking of which curse to use and the Ravenclaws were still staring at her in shock, Hermione heard what were surely her words coming from behind her and not from her mouth.

"HEY! That isn't funny!"

Hermione's eyes were still fixed on the same point as her wand when Ron came to stand beside her.

"Harry didn't ask to be in the tournament and it's bloody disgusting that you feel you can joke about it!" he yelled at the girls. He was taller than all of them, but they didn't seem to take him seriously. In fact, the two girls that weren't in line of Hermione's wand burst out laughing.

"Fine. Laugh all you want," Ron shrugged. "I'll just leave you to her," he added with a nod to Hermione, who was still glaring at the increasingly pale skinny girl.

"And what exactly is she going to do?" laughed the girl with black hair.

"Well, she's Hermione Granger," Ron fired back as if it were obvious. "I'm sure you've heard of her reputation. The only reason you're not all on the floor right now is because you aren't worth the effort."

To Hermione's great surprise, Ron mentioning her reputation, the one she didn't even know that she had, seemed to make the Ravenclaws wary of her and they started walking away after giving her one last dirty look.

Hermione lowered her wand and rounded on Ron. Anger was still bubbling through her veins, the girls' words resounding in her head… For the first time the possibilities of the first task hit her and she was so scared for Harry that she could barely think.

"You left your book when you erm… stormed-"

"Why can you say that to them but not Harry, the one who _needs _to hear it?" she shouted at him. His eyes flicked to her wand, still grasped in her hand, before he looked back at her with his eyes filled with shame.

"It's complicated," he mumbled, fumbling with the large book in his hands.

"No, it isn't!" bellowed Hermione, aware that everyone in the courtyard was staring at her and that tears had started falling down her cheeks. She turned on her heel and started heading to the library. "TALK TO HIM!" Hermione yelled over her shoulder as she went.

When she had reached her destination, Hermione sank into a chair that was hidden amongst the vast amount of shelves and pulled a book out with shaking hands. Despite what Ron had said, she doubted she could've won a duel against all three of them. Besides, she didn't start _duels. _She needed to keep her head on straight or she would never be able to help Harry.

The next day, when an out of breath Harry ran up to her in Herbology and asked her to teach him the Summoning Charm, Hermione knew what she had to do. She wasn't the most laid-back person. She wasn't the best person to have around if you were stressed out and she certainly wasn't Ron Weasley, but if she was anything, Hermione Granger was a great friend. If Harry needed her to help him with a charm, then she would put 100 per cent into teaching him because there was no way that Harry was going to be beaten by that dragon if she had anything to do with it.

* * *

_Thanks for reading :) Next chapter will contain more Harry, I promise._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thank you to all of you reviewers/alerters/favouriters. Your reward is a new chapter. Sorry, I didn't have time to put a bow on it._

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and tweets far too much. Seriously, woman, stop with the spam._

* * *

Hermione was sat up in bed, reading. It had taken a while, but she was now used to waking up in the hospital wing. It had been a few weeks since she had left the place in fact. She had expected to find it frustrating but there had been never ending visits from Ginny, who could lighten the mood with one of her uncanny Umbridge impressions, and Neville, who had kindly offered to bring her any book she wanted from the library. He occasionally brought her the wrong book, but, after hearing how he had carried her unconscious form around the Department of Mysteries, she decided never to mention it. Occasionally even Luna wandered in and appeared to be shocked to find her there.

Even when there were no visitors, Ron had always been there to moan about the food and lack of Quidditch. That had been until yesterday afternoon when Madam Pomfrey had announced he was well enough to go back to his dormitory. He had stayed with her until visiting hours were over, but then had been kicked out after one last promise to bring her a 'half-decent sandwich' when he returned. Her first night alone had been restless and had resulted in her waking up at six and giving up hope on getting any more rest.

It was as she had to stifle a yawn behind her hand that she looked up from the pages of her book to see the other person who had been visiting her, standing in the doorway.

Harry's visits had been uncomfortable to say the least. He never came alone, only when Ginny dragged him to the hospital wing, and when he was there he rarely spoke. He'd stay for a short while before leaving abruptly. She had discussed this with Ron at length and for once he didn't tell her drop it because he was worried too. They knew him best and neither of them knew what to do to help him.

Harry stared at her for a few seconds before coming to stand by her bed. In the low light of the hospital wing his skin looked a strange shade of yellow and the bags behind the lenses of his glasses stood out clearer than usual. He clearly hadn't slept the night before. Hermione wondered how long he had been there before she noticed him.

"Hi," Hermione said, slowly closing her book. From this close she could see how dull his usually vibrant eyes were. He seemed unsure of what to do with his hands and buried them in his pockets.

"How're you feeling?" he asked. Hermione was unsurprised to hear how croaky he sounded.

"Better," she answered softly. "You?"

Harry coughed and shrugged and Hermione was convinced he would bolt. Harry didn't normally discuss how he was, but since they had got back from the ministry he shut down if someone asked him how he was, however innocently. Instead, with what looked like great effort, he sat down next to her bed and stared at her sheets.

Hermione was so grateful that he didn't leave that she didn't push him for a better answer.

"You're here early," she commented, trying to get some kind of conversation going, but immediately chastised herself for pointing out that he probably hadn't slept. Talking to Harry at the minute was like walking on the most fragile eggshells known to man. She even found herself wishing for the Harry who would lash out unpredictably.

Again, however, Harry surprised her by not reacting wildly.

"Thought you might be bored on your own," he told her in a voice so quiet she barely heard it.

"Oh," she said. He could've been lying, but she touched all the same. "Thank you."

She waited patiently for Harry to respond, but after a while it became clear that he wasn't going to. Unsure of whether reopening her book would be rude, Hermione repeatedly read the blurb to pass the time. This had been the most responsive she had ever seen Harry, not to mention this was his first solo visit and she didn't want to ruin it. He had come to her and if wanted to sit in silence, then she would sit in silence.

After a couple of minutes, Hermione started wondering what it would be like to lose someone close to her. So far, apart from Sirius, the only person she had known to die had been her maternal Grandfather, but she had only been four years old and could only remember snippets of him. She guessed her equivalent of Harry losing Sirius would be if one of her parents, Ron or Harry died. If that happened, Hermione had no idea how she would react, let alone cope, leaving her with nothing comforting to say to her friend.

As the time passed, Hermione's ribs started to ache and she wished she could lie down, but Harry was still sat next to her, staring, unseeing, at mattress in front of him.

"I'm sorry."

His words shocked her so much that Hermione thought she had imagined them at first, but as she looked up from her book, she saw him looking directly at her. She had expected him to look upset or at least awkward, but his face was so bereft of emotion he could well have been a corpse.

"What for?" she asked, not knowing how else to respond.

Harry frowned a bit as if he didn't understand why she didn't know what he was apologising for. "For you being hurt-"

"Don't be so-"

"-and for not listening to you."

Hermione's rebuttal died in her throat. She stared at him as the rest of the sentence that he hadn't said filled the space between them.

_For not listening to you when you said it was trap._

_You were right, but I didn't believe you and you were nearly killed because of it._

_If I had just stopped and listened to you, Sirius would still be alive._

Hermione wanted desperately to tell him that he had listened to her, he had checked to see if Sirius was in his house, but couldn't because what he considered to be his worst crimes had only been implied. Acknowledging them would be like declaring that she believed them to be true.

So instead she continued staring at Harry, trying to keep the pity that he hated so much off of her face, while he went back to gazing into space, apparently no longer interested in their conversation.

Harry was always so observant, always spotting things that no one else did. Even when he took the back seat in a conversation, which he did often, he was still alert and listening. Seeing him drift so easily into his own thoughts was unnerving for Hermione to see.

What was promising though was that before every time someone mentioned Sirius or the ministry, Harry had walked out, sometimes with a flimsy excuse, sometimes without a word. This was by far the closest he had ever come to discussing it himself. Maybe he was finally willing to try and drag himself out the depression that had gripped him the past couple of weeks.

"I'm sorry, too, Harry," Hermione whispered, unable to look at him so she looked down at her knees. "I-I know words can't solve this, but I'm here for you in any way you need me to be."

When she had finished talking, Hermione looked up to see Harry still staring into the distance. He hadn't heard her. Not wanting to disturb him, Hermione adjusted her position to make herself slightly more comfortable and sat with him in silence.

It was a good ten minutes before Harry spoke again.

"How are you?" he asked again, although this time he seemed like he cared about the answer, even if his voice was expressionless. "Ron said something about you being on fewer potions now?"

"Yes, it's much better now," Hermione answered as cheerfully as she could. "I might even be allowed out of here in the next couple of days."

"That's good," he replied, smiling as though he had forgotten how.

Hermione returned the smile as she swallowed the unease that had started climbing its way up her throat.

He didn't need to know that, up until a few days ago, there was talk of her having to stay in the hospital wing over the summer holiday or that the reason she was on so many potions originally was that Madam Pomfrey wasn't entirely sure how to treat her. He didn't need to know how the curse had almost melted her ribs together. He didn't need to know that if the incantation had been spoken aloud, her organs would have been also, killing her almost instantly.

Even as she continued chatting as casually as she could with Harry, familiar shooting pains went through her ribs and she wished she could try and get some more sleep, but she didn't because he was hurting more than she could possibly know.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you as ever to all you reviewers/alerters/favouriters out there. Also a special thank you to everyone who discovered this story via Seven Simple Years - cheers for looking into my other stories :)_

_Anyway, new chapter up earlier than expected because it kindly wrote itself._

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling - sure she owns Harry Potter but can she do her own stunts? Huh - Ha *gets smacked in face by a tree* (Anyone who gets that reference just earned themselves a lifetime's supply of soft cheese)_

* * *

Of all the homework Harry had ever been given, this was by far the strangest. No writing, drawing or practising was needed - just the removal of one his professor's memories. He had no idea how to even begin getting his hands on the memory Dumbledore wanted, but there must be a good reason. He had to try.

Maybe if he just knew what a horcrux was… Wouldn't Dumbledore have told him if he knew? Saying that, Harry thought as he turned a corner on his way back to the common room, it wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore had withheld information from him.

With every step, Harry grew more exhausted. It had been a hectic first couple of days back and all he wanted to do was to crawl into bed. Telling Ron and Hermione about his latest meeting with the headmaster could wait until tomorrow. Harry ran his hands over his face and wished the common room would be kind enough to move closer to him.

As he removed his hands, he saw the unmistakable bulk of Cormac McLaggen ahead of him and he started walking slower as to avoid him. Every unfortunate time Harry had been forced to have a conversation with him, he had become more grateful that he wasn't on the Quidditch team. He was one of the most insufferable people Harry had ever met. Despite the distance between them, Harry could still hear that McLaggen was talking to someone as it was very nearly curfew and the corridor was deserted.

"I know what you're trying to do, babe, and I've got to say it's working," he heard McLaggen say. Harry wished he could've spent five more minutes in Dumbledore's office; despite being unable to hear the reply, Harry thought McLaggen was obviously talking to a girl. He couldn't think of a more awkward situation to walk past. He doubted McLaggen would mind being interrupted – it was in his show-off nature – but Harry knew he would've hated to be his situation and he was sure the girl would feel the same way.

Inspiration struck and Harry was once again grateful for Dumbledore's request that he carry his Cloak around at all times. In fact, he wondered why he hadn't thought about it before. As quickly and as quietly as he could, Harry extracted his father's old Cloak from his bag and swung it over his shoulders, before lifting it over his head, rendering him invisible to everyone but Mad-Eye Moody and possibly Mrs Norris.

By the time Harry started walking again, McLaggen had stopped but still had his back to him so Harry couldn't see the girl he was talking to.

"Didn't you get my owls?" McLaggen asked when Harry was only a couple of feet behind him.

"Yes, Cormac," came the exasperated reply, "all thirteen of them."

Harry froze on the spot. McLaggen wasn't talking to a girl – he was talking to Hermione.

As an unspoken rule, Harry never got involved with Hermione's love life. To this day, he still didn't know what exactly went on between her and Krum and his strict 'Let Them Deal With It Themselves' policy over whatever was or wasn't going on with Ron had been highly successful until about a month ago. She was clearly devastated over the whole Lavender situation, but other than telling him that she picked her date based on who would annoy Ron the most, she never spoke about it.

Truth be told, Harry wasn't thrilled about the situation himself. While he thought Lavender was a lovely girl, he missed the days when the most disgusting thing his best mate did with his mouth was eat.

Harry stood stock still, unable to decide whether or not he should leave. He didn't want to know about what was happening with Hermione and McLaggen, but he remembered how dishevelled she had looked at the party when she had 'escaped' from him and he wanted to make sure nothing untoward happened again.

"So why didn't you reply?" McLaggen asked while Harry tiptoed to the right slightly so that he could see Hermione. She had her back pressed against the wall, a large book clutched tightly to her chest. She had obviously spent the evening in the library to avoid Ron and Lavender.

"I did," she replied coolly. "I replied to your first letter saying I wasn't interested and for you not to contact me again."

McLaggen laughed softly and took another step towards her. Harry had to admire his courage; underneath Hermione's polite exterior, he could clearly see the anger bubbling away and if she had been giving him that look, he would've shut up sharpish.

"Yeah, yeah, I know that game," he said. Harry took a few steps forward to see that he was looking not-so-quietly confident that this clearly already lost battle was going to end in his favour.

"What game?"

"You're playing hard to get."

Harry had to catch himself quickly before he nearly burst out laughing at the look on Hermione's face. She opened her mouth in shock a few times, clearly unable to think of a proper response to such a ridiculous claim.

"Have you never considered, Cormac," Hermione finally said harshly, "that I don't want to be 'got'?"

McLaggen stared at her for a minute before brushing the tips of his fingers along Hermione's arm.

"Of course you do, babe," he said in a tender voice that turned Harry's stomach.

Hermione flinched away from his touch and Harry saw her jaw clench. "Firstly, stop calling me by that ridiculous pet name," she bristled. "Secondly, don't touch me and, thirdly, you are the most delusional pig I have ever met!"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," McLaggen replied. For some reason he still looked totally unfazed by what was obviously a Hermione on the verge of a full-on explosion. "You're words are saying no, but your body is screaming yes. Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you pretend to be angry?"

If Harry had to guess who looked more shocked by McLaggen's words, him or Hermione, he would have no idea who would have won. McLaggen however, still completely blind to reality, took advantage of Hermione's stunned state to advance even closer towards her, so close that Hermione had to tilt her head up to look him in the face.

"Get away from me," Hermione growled once she had finally recovered.

"Only if you tell me to like you mean it," came McLaggen's husky reply. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but McLaggen lifted one of his huge hands up to gently cover her mouth. "I remember our kiss," he continued. "You _definitely _meant that."

Harry saw Hermione's eyes widen and a thin layer of moisture gather there. He had only seen this look on Hermione a couple of times, such as when she had first received hate mail after Rita Skeeter had published lies about her. This was the Hermione who had bitten off more than she could chew, had lost control of the situation and was now reaping the consequences. Gone was the fire and the anger, replaced with guilt, shame and fear, and Harry didn't like it one bit.

He didn't care if she had willing kissed McLaggen at the party; Harry knew that she hadn't done so because she had felt anything for the boy who was currently staring down at her like she was a piece of meat.

As soon as McLaggen moved his hand from Hermione's lips to the side of her neck, Harry whipped out his wand and tried to work out which spell to use. An obvious one was _stupefy, _but Harry hesitated as he lifted his wand to shoulder height. Hermione was a proud person. Would she want to know that Harry had not only heard their conversation, but had had to save her? After all, jumping to Hermione's defense was Ron's job and reminding her of him at a time like this probably wasn't wise.

It was as McLaggen started to slowly close the distance between him and a petrified-looking Hermione that he licked his lips in preparation and Harry knew exactly what spell to use.

"_Langlock!_" he whispered, hoping the pair in front of him wouldn't hear him.

The effect was immediate. McLaggen snapped his head back with a choking sound and moved his hands from Hermione to his own mouth. Waking from her daze, Hermione's eyebrows came back down from her forehead and formed a thunderous looking scowl. Before Harry could even think of another curse to hit McLaggen with, Hermione had brought her book up and smacked him hard across the face with it.

Still confused as to why his tongue was now glued to the roof of his mouth, McLaggen staggered back and stared at Hermione with disbelief and, Harry was pleased to see, a hint of fear.

"How _dare _you!" Hermione yelled at McLaggen as he rubbed his now-red jaw. "An invite to a party is _not _an invite to grope at me any time you want!"

McLaggen looked like he was desperately trying to talk, but this just seemed to incense Hermione further.

"You are a disgusting excuse of a man!" she shouted as McLaggen continued trying to work out what was going on. "I am not interested in you! Yes, we went to one party together and, yes, we-we kissed, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed any of it!"

The look on McLaggen's face was priceless and Harry was struck with another idea. With a second flick of his wand, he watched as McLaggen paled so quickly it was as if all of his blood had been drained from his body. Harry had only used this curse of the Prince's once before, on a slightly nervous Ron and the effect had left his best mate almost in tears until Harry had found the counter curse. It had taken nearly two hours before Ron had spoken to Harry again and even then it was only to force him to promise to _never _even think about using it on him again.

Harry watched as McLaggen realised what had happened. He moved one of his hands to his crotch and gulped audibly when he realised that his balls had vanished.

Hermione, unaware that silent curses were raining down on her victim, took this gesture completely the wrong way.

"You- you _vile-_" she stammered, disgust rendering her incapable of finishing her sentence. "You are an awful person, a terrible kisser and I never want to speak to you again!" Without further ado, she pulled her hand back and slapped him across his unhurt cheek and stormed off with a huff of indignation.

As Harry watched her go with pride, he had a twinge of guilt. Despite the chivalry involved, it was hardly a Gryffindor thing to do, attack an opponent from behind while invisible. While his niggling shame continued to grow, Harry saw McLaggen's watering eyes drop from Hermione's bushy hair to her retreating backside and he nodded appreciatively.

Although, Harry thought as he twirled his wand, causing McLaggen's toenails to grow at an alarming rate, before heading back to Gryffindor Tower, he was sure Godric Gryffindor would make allowances in certain circumstances.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who alerted/favourited after last chapter. I know I make jokes (well, attempt to at least) but I mean it – thank you. Without you I'd just be some weirdo with a laptop and too much spare time. After all a story isn't a story unless someone is listening._

_Special thank you to InkTeardrops and Wazlib88. Both of you have been around since I started this whole fanfic nonsense (or at least very close to the start) and are, at the time of writing, the only two to have reviewed the past couple of chapters. You're both awesome and I don't tell either of you that enough._

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter, as well as being into mergers and acquisitions. _

* * *

_Flutter._

Catch.

_Flutter._

Catch.

_Flutter._

Catch.

This is how Harry had spent the past few hours since breakfast. He would let the Snitch he inherited from Dumbledore hover above where his head lay on the sofa for a few seconds before catching it. The game reminded him of watching his father in the pensieve years ago now, but with none of the trickery and skill - just simple catches.

His stomach grumbled as he watched the Snitch for a few seconds. Food had been sparse this past week. He was used to it, but it had meant that Hermione had become a bit tetchy, especially when she had the horcrux. Last night as they sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and ignoring the lack of dinner, they had barely spoken. In fact, the only time Harry had talked had been thanking Hermione for washing his mug when it was empty. He tried to remember the last conversation they had had but couldn't. It must have been weeks ago.

Catch.

Harry considered going to look for some berries to eat, but he knew, deep down, there would be none.

_Flutter._

Nothing could grow on this hillside, not with the ground frozen like it was. Nothing would survive.

Catch.

Because that's all he was doing at the minute, surviving, hoping each breath he took wouldn't be his last.

_Flutter._

Getting through the day was his challenge. Seeing the sunrise at dawn was his reward.

Catch.

But for how long would he keep winning?

_Flutter._

"I miss having my hair cut."

Harry lost focus and the Snitch slipped through his fingers. He looked over at Hermione, lying on her bunk, the book she had been reading, closed on her stomach and one of her arms tucked behind her head. Her eyes were focused on the roof of the tent and her dainty fingers were curled in a strand of her matted hair. When they first started living out here, she had somehow managed to keep her hair presentable, but recently she seemed to have stopped caring.

"I miss being able to shave properly," Harry said, shifting slightly so he was lying more comfortably on the sofa. He scrubbed his jaw and felt the stubble there. Three years ago he would've loved having to shave every day, but now it was an extra thing on a list of tasks he couldn't see the point in doing any more.

"I miss…" Hermione pondered. "Quidditch. I miss Quidditch."

Harry turned to face her. "_Quidditch?_ You hate Quidditch!"

Hermione looked at him with a slight frown and pursed lips, an expression so perfectly Hermione that Harry nearly cheered after seeing her so zombie-like the past few weeks.

"I don't _hate _Quidditch," she corrected him. "In fact, I love watching it. I just don't think it's the be all, end all that you seem to think it is."

"Fine," Harry exhaled, wracking his brains for something else he missed - something that wasn't Ginny. "I miss Hogwarts."

"I miss the library."

"Shocking."

"Be quiet."

"I miss the trick step," Harry laughed, still smirking. "Y'know, the one Neville always missed?"

"Why on Earth would you miss that?" Hermione asked, bemused.

Harry rolled onto his side to look at Hermione properly.

"Dunno," he shrugged awkwardly. "I just miss all the little things about Hogwarts."

"Like how the suits of armour sing at Christmas?" Hermione asked.

Harry hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. He could picture himself walking through the front gates now, gazing up at the vast castle in front of him, the grounds rolling out around him. The smell of the place pounced upon him and his heart picked up the pace at the thought of crossing the threshold, knowing he was where he belonged, knowing he was home.

"Seeing Hagrid in his pumpkin patch."

"The portraits," Hermione enthused. "It's fascinating how much they pick up because people forget that they're there."

"I miss the train ride in," said Harry, closing his eyes and savouring the memories of years past. "All the sweets and knowing that I won't see the Dursleys for a few months…"

"I miss the twins' pranks."

"Really?" questioned Harry, quirking his eyebrows at her. "You always try and foil their wicked plans?"

Hermione gave Harry a mischievous look that he found a bit unnerving. "Everybody loves a challenge, Harry."

"I miss Mrs Weasley constantly trying to feed us up."

"Yes!" cried Hermione, a huge smile on her face. "And Mr Weasley asking us about Muggle things!"

"Did I ever tell you," Harry asked as he propped himself up on his elbows, "about how he asked me how lightbulbs worked once? I had no idea so I just sort of winged it."

"You-" Hermione exclaimed as she copied his position. "Was this not last summer, but the summer before?"

"Er…" Harry thought, casting his mind back through the months that had passed. "I think so."

The moment he had spoken, Hermione's face screwed itself up into a picture of anger and Harry swallowed hard.

"He came to _me _afterwards for follow up questions!" she squeaked in annoyance. "You had told him completely the wrong thing and I had to start from scratch! After an hour he hadn't remembered anything I had said, but remembered your rubbish about tiny, yellow, running men perfectly!"

With all that he had, Harry tried not to laugh. It took him a whole five seconds to fail.

"Sorry."

Both of them erupted with laughter, a sound that had not been heard for longer than either of them could recall. Harry had the strange desire to bottle this moment and live in it forever because here the outside world didn't matter; it was just him, Hermione and a reason to smile.

"Anyway," Hermione said as she fell back down on the bed, "it's your turn."

"What? Oh, washing machines. I miss washing machines."

"Oh yes, I miss the days when my clothes didn't smell of moss."

"Ah, the days of not living out of a handbag - a nice handbag of course," Harry added with a quick glance at Hermione.

"Thank you."

"I miss solid walls," Harry commented, staring at the murky brown canvas to his right.

"I miss Crookshanks."

"I miss Hedwig."

There was heartbeat in which Harry thought he heard Hermione's breathing hitch in shock, but soon it was over. The loss of his beloved owl still hurt but Hermione didn't give him time to think about it for too long.

"I miss Grawp."

"Okay," snorted Harry, "and I miss _Dudley_."

"I miss Pansy as well," mused Hermione, her eyebrows furrowed. "There is something satisfying about out-witting her and that stupid face of hers…"

"That's not a nice thing to say," Harry said in a mock-serious voice.

"Like you don't enjoy getting one over Crabbe and Goyle," she fired back defensively.

"All right, all right…" placated Harry. It _did _make him smile to think of all the times he got one over on either of them. "I miss proper showers. The one in there is shit," he grumbled, nodding towards the tiny bathroom in the corner they shared.

"Language, Harry," chastised Hermione as a reflex. "I miss new books."

"You've brought half of Hogwarts library with you!" cried Harry.

"You can never have enough books," she replied simply.

"I miss Buckbeak."

"I miss having my own room."

"I miss treacle tart."

"I miss my mum's carbanara."

"Seamus' jokes."

"Having a proper schedule."

"The Giant Squid."

"Working out whether the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is really after you or if you're paranoid."

"Dreading the day the house-elves storm Gryffindor Tower and appoint you their Queen, complete with a tiny crown made of spoons."

Both of them, propped up on their elbows, glared at the other, before they both cracked at the same time and ended up clutching their stomachs in mirth.

"The tree by the lake we always sat by," reminisced Hermione when she could breathe properly again.

Harry folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. Why couldn't every day be like this? Somehow by addressing all of the things they missed, the most the tension in his muscles had lessened slightly, as if hearing that someone else remembered them as well meant they weren't just a vivid dream he had had once upon a time; they were real and waiting for him when he had got through this.

"Flying."

"Butterbeer."

"Hogsmeade Weekends."

"A real bed."

"Fang."

"Tonk's pig snout."

"That fat gnome at the Burrow."

After a few moments, Hermione had yet to respond so Harry turned to face her. She lay on her back, one hand tucked behind her head, the other, fingering the locket that rested on her chest. Unlike before, however, her eyes were sad and her face was straight.

"I miss him," she whispered just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry's eyes snapped back to the roof of the tent and he rolled onto his side so his back was to Hermione. Out of everything they had both listed, that one was by far the one he missed the most and the one he wanted to think about the least. After a few minutes, the now-familiar sound of Hermione trying to hide her tears filled the tent and Harry fell into a restless sleep, filled with dreams of the face of a young, jubilant man, while the Snitch whizzed around them, all but forgotten.

* * *

_A/N 2: Ten gold stars to anyone who gets the OBatR reference._

_And now, because it's been a while, Shameless Plug Time everybody! The Latecomer. One shot starring the mighty Fred and George. Bittersweet. Funny. Check it out and I'll give £1 million!*_

_*(£1 million not included)_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Ah, the final chapter. This has been fun, hasn't it? This chapter is the plot bunny that started this whole thing so it felt weird writing it last. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and I like to think that she too watched The Woman In Black, saw the lanky ginger boy with the girl with bushy brown hair and had a horrible sense of déjà vu._

* * *

Before Harry had even opened his eyes, he knew it wasn't time to get up yet. The Burrow, including the ghoul above him, who had been very upset about having to move out of the attic bedroom, was silent, something that never happened during the day. Even yesterday, when everyone had come back for the first time since Voldemort's downfall one Weasley short, you could still hear people moving around, even if they were subdued.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and blinked the sleep away. He turned to look out of the small bedroom window so he could evaluate how close to dawn it was, when he noticed a strange looking lump on the floor. At first, Harry wondered how Ron could've messed his room up so quickly, but then he saw the bright orange lump had a mass of brown hair at one end.

"'Ermione?"

Hermione looked up and Harry realised the orange must be a blanket and her hair had been covering a pillow that looked as though it belonged in Ginny's room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Harry!" she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

His head still feeling thick from sleep, Harry tried to remember if Hermione had been there when he had fallen asleep but couldn't.

"Why you on floor?" he croaked, ruffling his hair.

"Oh… I er…" Even without his glasses, Harry could tell she had ducked her head in embarrassment. "I couldn't sleep without knowing you were both all right so… I didn't want to disturb you so I can-"

"So why are you on the floor?" Harry interrupted as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"Well, there isn't really space for another bed in here-" Hermione said matter-of-factly before she broke off because Harry had lifted up the cover of his bed and shuffled over to give her room.

"No, Harry, really it's fine-" she protested. Harry ignored her as he groped the floor by his bed for his newly-fixed wand. When his fumbling fingers had found it, he quickly cast an enlarging charm on both the bed and his duvet so they could both lie down comfortably.

Hermione had stood up between the two beds and was worrying her lip as she folded Ron's Cannons blanket. "Harry-"

"You slept in Ron's bed yesterday," Harry pointed out. "You don't want to be accused of favouritism."

Hermione stared at him, mouth wide open, clearly at a loss for what to say. "That's- We- nothing happened!"

Harry fought back a smile, knowing full-well that nothing had happened. He had been in the bed next to them in the boy's dormitory after all.

"Are you implying that something will happen now?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Get in," Harry sighed.

Harry saw Hermione turn quickly to Ron to see if he was awake. She knew as well as Harry did about his jealous streak, but Harry was fairly certain that, since the destruction of the locket, he wasn't on Ron's radar. If it had been anyone else offering to share a bed with Hermione, Harry was sure Ron wouldn't be too pleased, but he was equally sure that Hermione wouldn't consider accepting the offer from anyone other than the two boys who were currently in the tiny bedroom.

"He's dead to the world and you know he wouldn't want you on the floor," Harry pointed out, shaking the duvet a little.

She stared at him for a moment in her pyjamas, folded blanket and pillow clutched to her chest, before she placed the blanket back at the bottom of Ron's bed where she had found it and took a step forward.

"Fine," she said quietly as to not wake Ron. She placed the pillow next to Harry's head and climbed into the bed. After she had lay down, Harry covered her with the duvet and rolled onto his back. "Thank you," Hermione said reluctantly.

"Miss Granger!" Harry said in a scandalised low voice. "Two nights, two different boys' beds… people will talk-"

"Oh, shut up," she replied, nudging him with her elbow. "It's just you and Ron."

"Cheers," Harry scoffed. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to reclaim him, hoping that he remembered that Hermione was there when he woke up so that he didn't attack her or something.

"He's not my favourite."

"What?" questioned Harry, looking back at Hermione. As far as he could tell in the dark, she wasn't looking at him, but her own fingers as they fiddled with the edge of the duvet.

"Ron," she reiterated quietly. "He isn't my favourite."

"Bit late for this kind of confession, Hermione," Harry smirked.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, forgetting that Ron was asleep a few feet away and sitting up in bed. "No, no -"

Harry started laughing and Hermione realised this was one of the few occasions that she missed his sarcasm and scowled at him before lying back down. "You know what I mean," she grumbled.

"Yeah."

"I love you both equally," she continued diplomatically, "just… differently."

"I know," yawned Harry, getting a clump of fluffy hair caught in his mouth in the process. "I couldn't deal with all this hair anyway."

"Oh, sorry." She scooped her hair up and moved it to the other side of her head, for which Harry was very grateful. Harry had no idea how Ron had coped yesterday afternoon after the battle when her hair had been wild and almost the length of Luna's. About three hours after arriving at the Burrow, Mrs Weasley had informed the three of them they were all getting their hair cut. Happy to give her the distraction she was so clearly searching for, they had all complied straight away.

"It looks all right shorter," Harry commented when he had got the last of Hermione's hair out of his mouth.

"Didn't really have a choice," she shrugged. "The fiendfyre saw to that."

Again, Harry closed his eyes and hoped Hermione would take the hint.

"Harry?"

She hadn't.

"Yes?" Harry sighed, his eyes still closed.

"I know things are different now that Ron and I- well… It would be naïve to believe that nothing will change, but you're still my best friend."

Harry groaned internally. He had a feeling Hermione was going to try and have this discussion with him at some point and he had hoped it wouldn't happen at three in the morning or when he wasn't in a position to make his excuses to leave. What he wanted now was sleep, not an in-depth discussion about _feelings._

"Hermione-" he tried to interrupt but she was on a roll, her voice gaining pitch with every syllable of nervous rambling.

"I don't want us to grow apart or-"

"Hermione."

"-or never spend time together."

"Hermi-"

It was almost like he was her and Ron's child and she was explaining it didn't mean they didn't love him any less. If she told him it wasn't his fault, he was going to start getting annoyed.

"I promise not to leave you out-"

"Please do."

"- or exclude you in anyway. I mean, obviously Ron and I are going to want to be alone _sometimes_- OW!" Hermione cried when Harry pinched her hard on the arm. She glared at him, but he just shrugged.

"Sorry. You weren't going to stop otherwise."

"But-"

"I get it," he cut in harshly. "Things will be different, but this will be the same," he added gently when he saw her hurt expression.

Their eyes met and Harry hoped she would let it drop.

"Well, yes," she reluctantly agreed. "Just not as horizontal as we at the moment."

Harry chuckled softly. The two friends shared a small smile and Harry turned his head back to the slanted ceiling. He closed his eyes and started wondering if Ron would be up to going for a quick fly tomorrow. Ginny would probably join them, Charlie would love the distraction and it would be good for George to do something other than sit in Percy's room drinking.

His mind full of a time when the Weasley's would once again laugh together like they used to, Harry felt his body grow heavier and heavier, slowly sinking into…

"Harry?"

"What, Hermione?" Harry groaned. He noted that her voice sounded quieter than before and he hoped this meant she was tired and this was just going to be her saying goodnight. Instead, he felt her roll onto her side to face him.

"I'm glad you're alive."

Her voice was so small and sincere that Harry couldn't help but wrench his eyes open again.

"When he announced you were d-dead, I just- I couldn't think."

Despite his muscles screaming at him to ignore her and get some rest, Harry shifted to face her. He hadn't heard from anyone what those few minutes had been like, when they all believed him to be dead. Truthfully he didn't know if he wanted to; the pain in their voices had said it all.

"Ginny was shouting and Ron just looked so- and when I saw you in front of him-"

If there weren't any tears on her face then they were definitely saturating her voice. Unable to hear anymore, Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm okay," he assured her softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," she sniffed. "I just- I've never been so scared."

Even though he didn't want to discuss anything that had happened that day or how he felt about it or how he thought it had changed him, Harry realised that Hermione didn't want to either; she needed to. Over the years she must have realised that he never talked about his emotions so when she was upset she went to Ron for comfort, much the same way that he always felt better after escaping his troubles by spending a couple of hours with Ginny. With Ron so cut up over Fred, she had bottled this up.

It went against every instinct he had telling him to run and hide and he felt more uncomfortable than was probably normal, but Harry decided to listen and hope it would be enough.

"Obviously I knew that any of us could die," Hermione whispered thickly, "but I'd never thought about what I would do if one of us actually had. In that moment, I didn't care that Voldemort would win or that the entire country would be under his control. All I cared about was that my best friend was dead and I didn't get to say goodbye."

"Hermione…"

"I'll never forgive you for that," Hermione told him, shakily.

There was no denying that she was crying now. She didn't sound angry with him, just upset. He knew he would've felt the same if the roles had been reversed.

"I couldn't," he said, without realising he was even speaking. He didn't want to talk about it. The story of his walk into the forest was his and his alone. The details would go with him to his grave. Even if he wanted to explain his decision not to say goodbye to anyone, he doubted he could put his feelings into words.

Thankfully, Hermione understood, like Harry should've known that she would.

"I would've gone with you."

"I wouldn't have let you," he replied automatically.

"I know."

Despite how late it was and how slow his brain was functioning, Harry realised how perfectly those few words summed up their friendship. He always wanted to deal with things himself. She always wanted to help. They disagreed on many things, but they understood each other well enough to know they had a valid reason and, in the end, they had each other's backs, no matter what.

She may have annoyed him when they first met and several times since. He may have yelled at her when she didn't deserve it more times than he was proud of, but his life was a better place for having Hermione Granger in it. He knew age, new relationships and whatever physical distance they put between themselves wasn't going to change that.

"I'm glad you're alive too, y'know," Harry said, giving her a smile that she returned. He closed his eyes yet again and felt soft hair cover his face and the extended mattress shift slightly. Before he could question what was happening, he felt a pair of lips press against his cheek.

"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione whispered when she had settled back down, still facing him.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

They lay like this for a couple of seconds before Harry cracked one of his eyes open. The fuzzy version of Hermione in front of him appeared to have done the same thing.

"This is a bit-"

"Yeah."

"Shall we-?"

"Definitely."

With a sheepish grin each, the pair of them awkwardly rolled over so they had their backs to each other and finally went back to sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Yep, a Harry and Hermione friendship fic that ends with a kiss and them in bed together. Scandalous._

_Well, that's it, folks! Thank you to **InkTeardrops, Wazlib88, ozzel1, mkoala, jacoz32, Jessie Brooke, AlliJean, racethom, MsAnnaGraham, , xxaftergowxx, Justine, Woo, whatweareafraidof, CharmStone127, AlwaysLily, XxyellowmellowxX, White Lotus19,** ** , Mousas, ArcanePikachu, imatruenut, Kafkaz, m149, MaddeTheLover, menakaren, sodan64, tempybren, White Cavalier, wootwootsugaplum, Ana Luiza4, DawnJinx, F3rn, Fallen Emo Angel, HHH8HHH, ipodrocker16, Katesmom32, kchurchy85, Lazy tensai, Leolina, LynnBrook, NoxDawn24642, pancakesareyummy, ssSaja10101, TheMonkeyFuzz, T is for Tatty** and **YazzyDream **__for reviewing, favouriting and alerting. You make the world a shiny place and I like shiny things. They hold my attention. I know 8 short chapters is hardly War and Peace but it means a lot that you all stuck around._

_Winner for screen name of the story is a toss up between TheMonkeyFuzz and ArcanePikachu. You can share the prize of nothing between yourselves._

_If you liked this then you may like some of my other stories so feel free to take a look at my profile. The majority of them are one-shots so it's hardly a massive commitment. Also I'll start posting a new post-DH R/Hr fic called The Longest Start soon (like, today probably) so keep your eyes peeled for that. If you didn't like this then I tip my hat to you for carrying on reading anyway._

_Anyway, shameless self-promotion over with, thanks again for reading and have a nice day and a lovely tomorrow._

_-HalfASlug_


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